


beyond the here and now.

by boldly (techburst)



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, mako ragdoll cloud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 12:12:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6423466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/techburst/pseuds/boldly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>if i could find the years that went away / destroying all the cruelty of fate / i must believe that love could find a way / tonight </p>
<p>title taken from trading yesterday's "one day"</p>
            </blockquote>





	beyond the here and now.

The sound of glass breaking is a little too loud, a little too raw in the sense of being the first _real_ thing to reach his ears, not find itself muffled by the thickness of a human-sized test tube. Every crackle, every crunch nearly makes him wince with the intensity of it, but it's all he can do to take hold of the body he's broken free – small, but willful before, diminished even further by being held in suspended animation for so long. His heart falls just _so_ when weakened arms reach blindly to fold around his neck, and there's a small moment of pause in which he just _holds_ him, solid and reassuring, the one and only remaining thing that could hope to serve as a constant in a world of variables. 

"Hey, hey. I got you, Spike. And I'm gonna get you outta here. You hear me?"

A small, whispered sound is the only response he gets, and of course it's more than he'd been expecting – so he smiles against damp blond hair, flattened and robbed of its usual character, fingers threading through thin strands almost as a last-ditch attempt at comfort. ( It's genuine, of course it is, even when the hands giving the offering shake just a little from disuse. Muscle memory never forgets, and fingers curl around the back of Cloud's neck, the shadow of an action he's given over all too willingly so many times before. ) 

"… Sorry it took me so long."

Another small, muffled noise loses itself against Zack's neck and he swears, _swears_ he can hear the admonishment in the younger's voice, chastising, teasing and flippant all at once. 

_You promised, and you've never made one you haven't been able to keep. You don't think I can lose faith in you that fast, do you? Can I get a little more credit than that?_

"Yeah, yeah. Fair enough." He straightens up a bit, widens his stance to aid in gaining a firmer grasp on that smaller body. "Let's get you out of those wet clothes, huh? That can't be comfortable."

Up from there, countless stairs, until he's back in a familiar bedroom, the painting on the far wall passing by in his periphery as he deposits the blond's lax form on the nearest bed. He's vaguely aware of having seen a spare uniform in one of the other rooms, and even though it has to smell like it's been made an offering for the snacking of moths for the better part of a decade, he's so far failed to see any sort of alternative. 

_Always wanted to be a SOLDIER, right? Welcome to the glory without all the effort._

"It's not glamorous or anything, but you don't care, right?" He speaks aloud, knowing full well that he's only talking to himself, but anyone that has ever claimed to know him well would never be able to say that he's capable of staying quiet for very long. ( Well … at least with the hope of keeping a straight face, that is. ) 

"It's not like you're Sephiroth, after all. Did you know he used to spend half of every paycheck on stuff for his hair?" 

Zack laughs, slow and easy, even as he begins peeling wet clothing from pale skin, as slowly and delicately as one would handle a newborn. ( Maybe not _quite_ that well, because he's never been that dexterous, but it should go on record to show that he's being far more careful than he would normally bother with. ) "Hand to Gaia, I swear. He was such a princess …" 

The joke falls flat, and _he_ falls quiet, only for as long as it takes for the old pang of betrayal to knock against his ribs. Cold and hollow, and then it's gone just as easily, just as quickly in the name of keeping up appearances for old time's sake. 

"Wouldn't think it, would you? Not that it matters now." He smiles, and it's brittle, just barely maintains its shape at the very edges. A flash of heat lightning, fleeting and sharp, there and gone again as the beat of a heart that works too hard to clear the dust from old veins. "And not that you care, right? Let's get you cleaned up."

The pipes are old, creaking-groaning-whining when he turns the faucet in the bathroom, and it takes a couple of minutes for the water to run clear of rust, just this side of too cold as the tub fills, but it will have to do. As gently as he can, he lowers Cloud's body, whispering a slew of _I'm sorrys_ when the younger involuntarily tenses up at the first touch of cold against his skin. Hands that aren't shaking quite so much anymore smooth over shoulders, neck, chest, clearing away the residue that pollutes both inside and out, and it sinks in even more what they've been through. 

Time lost that they can't get back, something that has been stolen from both of them, and while Zack has never had much of a temper – he's always been too light-hearted for that – he finds his jaw clenching, mouth forming a firm, sharp line as he works his fingers through blond hair, smoothing out tangles and trying to bring back some of the luster that had always somehow managed to remind him of the sun when at its peak, bright and shining, healthy. 

A spark. _The_ spark that had been more than enough to keep a SOLDIER suddenly questioning everything fighting, pushing forward just to reach the end of something he'd been convinced would change … well, everything. ( It's already changed, that much he knows, things set in motion that can't be stopped, and his heart still hurts from it all. The anger, the lies, _every single bit of it._ ) 

He drains the tub, finds a towel in a nearby linen closet and gingerly dries damp skin, tries not to focus on how the color of it seems more gray than pink, sallow and stretched too thin over bone. The uniform doesn't fit him as well as it should, but it's still better than staying soaked in poison, and he has to admit that he looks a _little_ better than he had previously. 

"There. That's better, huh?" Fingers thread through his hair again, brushing it out of half-closed eyes that remain unfocused, hazy and glazed-over. A sigh betrays him, and he stretches out on the bed with his back braced against the headboard, no allowance for comfort as he tugs Cloud to all but mold against his side, weary arms winding around his frame as easily as he's ever done anything else. For a moment, there's only the sound of their combined breathing, his slow and even, the other's quiet and almost-not. The beat of his heart is slow, but strong, and it's reassuring enough that some of the tension bleeds out of him, shoulders bowing inward just enough to have him realize just how long he's been holding himself rigid. 

He doesn't notice when his eyes slide closed, when his head tips forward just enough that his nose nestles against blond hair. He doesn't notice when the background noise that old houses make fades into a blissful sort of silence, or when fingers twitch to curl into the fabric of his shirt, when a smaller body unconsciously pushes that much closer. Seeking warmth, comfort, familiarity with a soft sigh. 

Sleep comes, and it goes, and with it the dreams stay tame. Breaths in and out find an easy rhythm, and for a small, fleeting moment, their world isn't ending.


End file.
